Nightmares
by 001ElvenWarrior
Summary: Takes place season 2ish, John begins to have nightmares, but what do they mean, and how long can he last, plagued by paranoia and suspicion? T for violence and lang.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters that belong to Stargate Atlantis – only the plot is mine.

A/N: Today's my birthday – and I felt like putting this up, even though it's still in the process of being written. I apologize for any mistakes, but I look forward to reviews!

Nightmares

_He only knew that he was in a hurry. Where he was going or whom or what he was fleeing from, he didn't know. He was in a blue mustang, with plenty of horses under the hood for getting him to wherever he wanted to go. That was before he glanced in the review mirror and saw blue and red lights flash._

_He knew he'd been going fast, but when he glanced down at his speedometer, he was surprised to find that he was only going five over the 35 mph speed limit. He flashed his blinker, signaling that he was pulling over, and came to a stop. He checked his review mirror again, and this time his heart paused for a moment. Something wasn't quite right._

_He checked the car, nothing seemed out of place. He checked the police car, and that was when it hit him. The scrawled lettering on the car didn't match the normal letters that spelled Police, or even State Trooper. It was scrawled in some form of Ancient. Worse, how he recognized it, he didn't know, but his heart began to pump adrenaline. It was scrawled in Wraith._

_Without thinking, and before the 'person' could even step out of the vehicle, John Sheppard hit the gas, lurching forward and leaving a black streak of rubber on the pavement. The vehicle quickly came up behind him, and within moments, the flashing lights of more than half a dozen police cars surrounded him._

_Panicking, he punched the gas, letting loose and steering onto the highway. His adrenaline was pumping steadily, more so when he glanced to his left and found a police car already there. In the passenger seat sat a man whose white hair and creepy face was the exact image of a wraith. Suddenly the driver glanced over, and John lost control._

_The car swerved and time dipped crazily..._

John Sheppard sat up in his bed, sweat coating his entire body. He was panting, his adrenaline up and his eyes shone in horror. He had seen the passenger, but what spooked him more, had been the driver. It had been Colonel Sumner.

His exposed arms goose-bumped as cool air met them, and John shivered slightly. He was trembling, he could feel it, and he was hot. He flung back the covers, thinking the lights on and squinted when they did so. It had been a while since he had had any nightmares, the last one had been about that damned bug attached to his neck. Self-consciously he rubbed his neck, then gained control of himself once more.

He stood and paced in his room, but the dream seemed to replay itself repeatedly in his mind. Frustrated, John slammed his fist into his pillow, wincing as his wrist protested the violent action. With no incentive to sleep, John left the confines of his room, determined to find something better to do – despite the fact that it was only 2:08 AM.

He had pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt over his boxers and t-shirt, then wandered up and down the halls. He hadn't realized how quiet Atlantis was in the early morning hours. Of course, he usually got up early, but by then there was usually some amount of activity.

Goose-bumps appeared on his arms once more, and John shivered. He didn't like this, it seemed too quiet. And there were no distractions to keep his mind from replaying the dream. He shook his head to clear his mind as much as to say 'no' to thinking about his dream. He needed something to take his mind off things – other than going to see the shrink or waking up someone. He didn't need to talk about it, just needed to wear himself out so he could sleep peacefully.

With that in mind, he headed for the gym, figuring he needed to let out a little vexation. He stared at the emptiness of the gym, never had he seen it so vacant. Usually it was filled with two or three people when it was slow, and often times a dozen or more when busy. Trying not to think about it, and wondering instead if this was how Ronon felt when thinking about his past, John hesitantly approached a punching bag.

He smiled grimly when he saw that someone had taken it upon themselves to place a wraith mask on it. He turned and went to the second, non-decorated punching bag, and let his fist fly. It connected solidly, the punching bag sent swinging with the sudden violent attack. This felt better, John thought, and began to punch away, welcoming the exercise and concentration that comes from beating something up.

How long he had been concentrating on beating up the punching bag, he had no idea, until a firm hand suddenly descended on his shoulder.

"Feeling a wee bit violent?" Carson's voice checked the punch that John had been about to land on the swinging sack.

John whirled, having not expected anyone to appear for a while yet, and least of all in the gym.

"Why aren't you asleep?" John meant it to be a simple question, but it came out short and clipped.

"It's six-o-clock, colonel." Carson's tone was one of surprise. Suddenly his eyes glittered. "How long have you been here? Pummeling at that sack?"

John had to think about it for a moment.

"Two-ish," he muttered.

"Aye, well come on, let's get you to the infirmary and bandage up those wrists of yours." Carson never took his hand from John's shoulder, instead steering him firmly towards the infirmary.

John took the moment to look down at his hands and grimaced. If the length of his punching the punching bag was anything to go by, he'd been at it long after his hands had become bloody. Not to mention that he had been punching quite vigorously.

"Here, sit down and I'll be back in a moment." Carson disappeared off into the depths of his infirmary, and left John sitting on one of the beds while a nurse took a moment to look him over. She sighed under her breath, but John didn't care. He'd land in the infirmary soon enough, one way or another.

Carson returned wheeling a small cart towards him. On the cart was a bottle of some ointment that John knew to be iodine, and gauze pads and tape. John grimaced as he looked back down at his hands. The skin had broken on his knuckles, and his wrists were tender. This was going to hurt.

"Okay, colonel, why don't you sit Indian style, and let me have a look at your hands." John grimaced as he pulled his legs up under him, wincing as his wrists protested even that small amount of labor.

Carson took his hands in his gloved ones and looked them over for a moment. His brow deepened in concern and thoughtfulness, and he let go of John's hands.

John wrinkled his nose as the smell of iodine crawled up to him.

"This may hurt," Carson said, about the same time as the ointment hit his flesh.

It was an understatement, as John flinched, biting his lip as the pain swamped him. He tried to think about something else, but the stinging and burning sensation was too much. Even trying to recall the dream had no effect.

"There we go, good job." Carson began to wrap up John's hands, from knuckles to halfway up his arms. "To keep the wrists steady," explained Carson, when he finished and taped the gauze in place.

"Well now what am I supposed to do? I can't shoot a wraith wrapped like this!" John stared at his hands, and ground his teeth against the remaining effects of the iodine.

"No, which is why I'm putting you on vacation time, or if you insist, light duty, which is to include no lifting, no using your hands or wrists, and no weapons training. Do I make myself clear colonel?"

"What am I supposed to tell everyone?" John muttered to himself.

"How about the truth? They'll understand lad, you don' t give them enough credit."

Carson's voice was gentle, even if his eyes glittered firmly.

"And you are not to coax anyone into removing that gauze – it's there because your skin needs a chance to heal itself."

John sighed and Carson knew that was all he was going to get out of the colonel. He had admitted defeat in his own way, and Carson respected that.

"I'd like to see you come back tomorrow morning, to get a better look at those knuckles. If the pain gets worse, I'll give you something for it."

Carson sighed as he watched John walk out of the infirmary. Sometimes there was just no dealing with the man.

It wasn't so much the pain as it was the embarrassment of having his hands wrapped. Who was he to be coddled like a newborn? John snorted. He was in another galaxy, for Pete's sake, and he would be damned if he was supposed to just sit back and relax – especially if his team was about to go on a mission. What really pissed him off though, was the fact that he wouldn't even be able to steer the Puddlejumper – the wrap wouldn't give him enough flexibility to grip the initial contact. And providing he could wrap his hands around the consoles, he doubted the Ancient's technology would be able to go through five layers of gauze.

He never felt more like punching something than at this moment, but his bandaged wrists were testimony to his vexations. McKay would laugh at him, Teyla would be concerned, and Ronon – heck, Ronon would probably just grunt and say he needed to visit the gym more often. As if having your butt whipped by a certain someone in stick fighting/practice wasn't enough humiliation.

"Hey, Sheppard," Rodney's voice filtered out from the lab that he was in, and John waited for the inevitable pause of shock. He wasn't left waiting long as Rodney's eyes flickered down to the colonel's injured wrists. "Don't tell me you got into another fight with Ronon."

"I didn't," John looked down at his hands, wondering if he could confess to a man he highly respected. "I guess you could say I had a bad dream."

It was an understatement of galactic proportions that caused even Rodney to snort and roll his eyes.

"Colonel, a bad dream doesn't bloody a man's fist, let alone both of them. You can tell me." The pleading was so evident in Rodney's face, if not in his tone, that John relented…slightly.

"Fine, I'll tell you, but only tonight. Meet me at my quarters when we're dismissed." John could still see the shock in Rodney's eyes, and he could only hope that Teyla and Ronon would be calmer about it.

He couldn't have been more wrong. Teyla was not as inquisitive as Rodney, but her eyes portrayed worry and concern. Her stature changed also to one of protectiveness, a new stance that John hadn't seen in the usually good-natured and relaxed Teyla he had known up until now. Likewise, Ronon was also silent, but the large man trailed him everywhere, as though a body guard. John tried to confront him about it, but Ronon merely grimaced and ignored whatever he tried to say, until John gave up.

"It's not like I'm helpless," John muttered under his breath, only to realize that carrying a tray was the only thing he could manage – and an empty tray at that. A full one was too much weight on his wrists, and John could only wince as he tried to lift the tray off the counter. Instead, he had had to rely on Ronon's strength to carry both trays back to a table.

John glared at the floor, his embarrassment preceding that of wanting to satisfy his hunger. He couldn't stand the looks of pity and, worse, the looks that came to say 'oh yes, there goes our CO, always injured or fighting for his life against all odds.' Frankly, John just wanted to be able to sit back and relax, but every time he did so, he felt bad that everyone else was working just as hard, if not harder, than he himself. He couldn't stand the looks that people in the cafeteria were darting at him, so he left, his tray untouched and his three companions looking after his retreating form.

As evening finally came, John had forgotten all about what he had told McKay until the man had shown up at his quarters. Rodney wasn't even at the stage of mad yet, but the look he gave John, made him feel that trouble was about to ensue.

"Colonel John Sheppard," Rodney voiced firmly, concern in his tone, "you are going to explain what happened." Rodney was gesturing at the still wrapped hands.

"Sure, but-"

"No buts," Rodney insisted.

"At least let Teyla and Ronon enter, Rodney." John managed to attempt a grin, but how successful it was, became apparent at the worried expressions of his friends.

"As you're no doubt wondering, why are my arms covered in bandages…well, let's just say I had a bad dream."

The three of them looked as ready to believe him, as they would believe a wraith who has just told them they could experiment on it.

"How about, let's not, and instead you tell us about the dream. That," and here Rodney smiled evilly, "or we'll get Kate to extract the dream from you."

"Don't even joke about that!" Was John's reaction, as he quelled a shiver. He searched the faces of his friends before glancing down at his wrists. "The truth is, I injured them while punching a punching bag…for 4 hours straight…starting at 2 in the morning." He flicked his gaze up to their faces and he saw concern and incomprehension. He sighed. "I had a dream, a nightmare, in that I was driving a really nice car. Anyway, I was going too fast and a policeman pulled up behind me, flashing his lights. I stopped, but realized that the writing on the police car wasn't in English…it was in Wraith." John paused, letting this soak in. "The next thing I know, I was pulled up alongside one of these police cars and saw a wraith looking at me from the passenger seat. In the driver seat, however," John paused, his face paling and his heart beginning to hammer away, as a cold sweat developed. "In the driver seat…sat…Colonel Sumner."

* * *

A/N: And (drumroll) your reactions are…? Liked it? Hated it? I apologize to all you John Sheppard fans out there (I'm one as well) but in the process of writing this, he kind of develops another personality…of course who wouldn't after having such a nightmare ? XD Please Review and I plan on updating every-other day so that I can actually find time to write. Thanks! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Once again: I do not own anything that belongs to anyone…my imagination is my inspiration.

**A/N**: Here's the next part…and hopefully the writer's block won't set in just yet! Enjoy! And thanks so much for all of you who reviewed – it really encouraged me! Thanks to Reviewers: sherryw, Sheppardster, Stealth Dragon, reen212000, allaboutthegate.

* * *

**LAST TIME**: _In the driver seat, however," John paused, his face paling and his heart beginning to hammer away as a cold sweat developed. "In the driver seat…sat…Colonel Sumner."_

The shocked looks on his friends' faces would have made him smile, but John had entered shock himself. The nightmare was back, enforce, and so was the image of shooting Colonel Sumner. John could feel the sweat coating his body, the goose-bumps appearing despite the sudden flash of heat that ran through his body.

"John? John!"

Rodney's concerned voice punctured through the wave of panic that had almost begun to overtake John's self-control, and slowly John pulled himself together, managing a small grin. It faded as his friend's were watching him with concern. Even Ronon seemed wary.

"Never met Sumner," was his only reply, but the look of understanding that passed between Ronon and John said more than anything either of them could voice. Which was just fine, seeing as how John couldn't speak, what with the shock.

"Look, buddy, it's just a dream, okay. That's all it is, all it ever was. Now, think happy thoughts, of that time when you kicked wraith butt and captured Steve? Or how about that time when we tried to change a wraith into a person?" Rodney tried vainly to rescue his friend from despair and fear, but he could see he was failing.

"Colonel, do you wish to stay in the infirmary? I am sure that Doctor Carson would not mind." Leave it to Teyla to find a solution. What better to keep a nightmare at bay, than in the infirmary where there's bound to be someone at all times? John pried himself from the feeling of fear, enough to wonder if he was going insane. Since when did he need to sleep with a teddy bear or a nightlight to ward off the nightmares? Not since when he was four, that was for sure.

"No, no, I'll be fine." Under his breath, John muttered a nearly silent, "I hope." But whether anyone heard him, he wasn't about to ask.

"Very well, it is late, and we do have a mission briefing tomorrow afternoon at 1300 hours." Teyla gave John an encouraging smile, before shooting specific glances at both Rodney and Ronon. John interpreted the look as insisting the two of them leave him in peace for the night.

"Fine," Rodney's clipped voice was unhappy, which made Ronon's silence more acute as he remained silent. They left the colonel in the hallways, each heading back to their own quarters.

"Okay, sleep, you wore yourself out, and now to just…sleep." John yawned, exhaustion becoming apparent since his bad night. He only hoped the nightmare would leave him alone.

_Once more, John found himself in the blue mustang. "No!" He cried, banging his hand against the wheel which resulted only in the horn being blown. His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, almost with a will of its own, and the car sped up._

"_Let me out!" John pleaded with the car, his foot pressing down on the gas pedal with more force. The more he wanted to get out, the faster the car went, and the faster the car went, the quicker the police were going to come._

_It was already too late, as the familiar red and blue lights flashed on in the review mirror. Dread pitted itself in John's stomach as he tried vainly to push the brake down, but instead fueled the engine. Once more he found himself surrounded by half a dozen cop cars, and he watched in shock and utter horror as one pulled up beside him. In the passenger seat sat a wraith, its malicious intent clear in its watchful eyes. Involuntarily, John's eyes roamed over to the driver, where he saw his former CO driving. The man was as he had been before the wraith had touched him. But when this Sumner looked over, John could see that the glint in his former CO's eyes had changed to one of hunger – wraith hunger._

"Oh crap," John lunged upward, wincing as his wrists protested the violent movement. He was once again covered in sweat, and he shivered. The dream was becoming more vivid, and he glanced at the clock to find the time: 1:08. At this rate, it was going to be a miracle if he got so much as 6 hours of sleep.

He lay back down, determined to at least rest, but his eyes closed, and once more his heart rate increased.

_He was back in the blue mustang, at a stop this time. He glanced in the review mirror and saw no police cars – nothing, just darkness. He became aware that it was nighttime in his dream, and slowly he pushed on the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, and John realized his mistake too late, when he realized that the gas pedal was being pushed down farther than he wanted it. He tried to put on the brake, but his arms and legs wouldn't respond, except of their own accord, and his brain was just along for the ride._

_Some ride, John thought distantly, as he waited for the flashing red and blue lights. He wasn't disappointed, for a mere second later, they did appear. The car drove itself onto the highway, but instead of looking left or right, despite the intensity that this raised, John forced himself to look where he was going. The highway was surprisingly clear, and, for a moment, he thought he recognized it, but the scenery flashed by too quickly for him to recall if he had ever traveled along this highway._

_Like all dreams, this one was silent, at least he thought it was because there were no sirens coming from the police cars. But appearances can be deceiving, especially in nightmares. The silence continued, until John realized his car was slowing down. The fleeting thought that there was no more gas in the engine, appeared in his mind, and John sighed in frustration and fear._

_His car came to a halt as did the wraith cars, which surrounded him. The people driving all appeared, and John saw to his utter horror, that Sumner, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney, even Halling and Jinto, were all drivers. The passengers appeared as well, each one a wraith, Steve and Bob he recognized grimly, as he did Michael._

"_Whoa, it's not what you think," John tried to say, but he found his mouth glued shut. Everyone surrounding him was pointing a wraith stunner at him._

_The silence shattered as a wraith dart flew overhead, leaving behind a trail of sound. John knew without looking that he was unarmed, but even if he had his P90 and 9-mil, he still would have been hard pressed – if it were not impossible – to come out unscathed._

"_Colonel Sheppard, we've been waiting for this moment." The wraith voice that came in the dream was the same of the first wraith he had met aboard the hive ship; a female with malice in her eyes. She approached confidently, knowing that her prey was unarmed and full of fear._

"_I killed you," John tried to say, but his mouth was still glued shut. He found himself out of the car, standing on quaking legs as the wraith approached him._

"_Kneel," the wraith spoke to him, her eyes watching him intently. Try as he might, John's legs gave way beneath him, and the wraith raised her hand. Her nails sliced cleanly through his shirt, barely missing the skin. "Such strength…"_

_It was the last thing he heard as her hand came for his chest, and pain filled his being…_

John shot up, soaked in sweat, panting and not caring about anything. The pain in his chest was real, as was the pain in his wrists, and John found himself covering his heart with both arms – as though a wraith had tried to feed off him. The lights were already on, for which John was thankful, and his heart continued to hammer away as he shivered in fear.

This was going to have to end, he thought, as he ripped off the sheets and glanced at the clock. It was 2:19 AM. John wiped his face with a hand, clearing the sweat that adhered to his pores. He needed to get a shower, he decided, so with that, he made his way to the shower, grabbing his clothes as he went.

The jet of hot water that hit him, brought John back to reality with a start, and he gave a sigh. He was still alive, if a little worse for the wear. One thing, however, did disturb him, for on the left side of his chest, over his heart, was a bruise in the shape of a handprint.

He quickly shut the water off and pulled on his clothes, breathing heavily as he wondered what more he could do. Sleep was no longer an option, for he was wide awake and the moment he did fall asleep, the nightmare was most likely going to reoccur.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs and breathing out slowly to calm his racing heart. It helped…a little. He shook his head and glanced at his wrists, Carson had wanted to see him this morning. A little of John's humor kicked in as he wondered if 2-o-clock was what Carson had had in mind when telling him that.

Footsteps sounding outside his hallway forced John to calm his racing heart. It was most definitely _not_ a wraith, he reasoned, as he waited for the footsteps to continue past his quarters. He listened and realized that they had stopped outside his quarters, and John dimmed the lights quickly.

Automatically, he reached for the 9-mil that he kept on his person at all times, at the same time, stepping back and around the edge of a wall that led to the bathroom. He trained his gun on the door to his room, holding his breath as he waited for the footsteps to continue.

Fear began to take a better grip on John, until he figured it was better to get it over with. Taking a deep breath, the colonel thought the door open. What he found, however, did not let him breathe a sigh of relief.

There was no one at his door, and – when he picked up the courage – no one in the hallway either. John placed a hand over his chest, trying to soothe his pounding heart, jumping when he thought he heard something behind him instead.

"Who-who's there?" John called out hesitantly.

No response came, even as the colonel collected himself and tried to calm down. He had lasted this long on Atlantis without going insane, and now was not the time to lose his cool. How had he managed it during the siege? Oh yes, that's right, he had been worried about everyone else, everyone but himself. That, and it was his job to protect Atlantis from the wraith.

"I need to get out more," John told himself, shaking off the feeling that something was watching him. "I'm getting paranoid." Paranoia was perfectly legitimate in John's case, as nearly everyone in the galaxy wanted to either kill him, or…kill him. "I'm not paranoid, they really are out to get me," John told himself, hearing his rough voice and thankful he still had it. The nightmare had given him the creeps.

He could still feel the wraith's hand over his chest, trying to suck out the years that he still had to look forward to. Self-consciously he placed his hand over his heart, feeling it beating away. The bruise made it a little tender, but only if he pushed firmly. He shook his head, taking a deep breath, before deciding that it was time for a quick run around Atlantis since Carson had forbidden him to be allowed in the gym until his hands healed.

John looked up and down the hallway, and thinking better of the situation, stuck his 9-mil back in its holster. It would look peculiar if the 2IC of Atlantis ran around with his 9-mil pointing at anyone who happened to venture in his path. Besides, it was in its holster and within easy reach should he need it. _Just keep telling yourself that_, John told himself, as he closed his door and started at a walk.

If Ronon could see him now he'd be so proud, John wondered idly, as his feet hit the floor. He was taking a new course around Atlantis, leaving the transporters alone in favor for the stairs. Physical exercise was what he needed – and in this state, John was going to get conditioned well beyond what everyone expected of him. Or at least as fit as his lean body would allow.

He completed one lap at a walk and jog pace, and exhaustion was slowly becoming known as John took a moment to stretch and listen to the silence. He quelled a shiver, telling himself that it was just early. _Too bad I left my watch behind,_ John grimaced. He didn't even have his radio, which told John that he was really losing it, since he never went anywhere without that piece of technology.

"Alright, I'll head back," John told himself quietly, deciding he was far enough away that a run might be beneficial. He didn't go at top speed – that was only in dire circumstances, like when running from wraith – but he didn't dilly-dally along either. He headed straight for his quarters, and when he approached, was startled to find he had his 9-mil in his hand already.

_Am I really _that_ paranoid?_ John refused to answer the question, knowing there was no right answer. He thought the door open and quickly stepped inside, forcing himself to lower his 9-mil back into its holster. It went against every instinct, which was, at that moment, clamoring to fill the walls with lead.

He kept his back to the wall, thinking the lights on with bright intensity, hoping to blind anyone else who happened to be in the room. His eyes adjusted and found it just as he had left it. Bed unmade, clothes in a heap on the bathroom floor, his radio and watch sitting by the nightstand.

He quickly fitted the radio on before his watch, and listened intently to the static that came. No one was chattering idly, nothing odd about that since it was still early in the morning. _Why is it, when you get up early, everyone else seems to be taking their sweet time in getting up?_ John wondered grumpily. He had managed to set aside his nightmare during his run, but once more in his room, he discovered it had quickly come back – it was just in the back of his mind.

Rather than dwell on paranoia, John tidied up his room a bit before leaving. He hated not carrying his P-90 with him, but the stories that gun could tell were about as satisfying as his dream. And nothing he wanted to revisit. It was times like these that John hated being alone; left to do nothing but contemplate his own problems, which often stirred up anger and self-doubt.

It was worse than going to the shrink, Kate Heightmeyer, who insisted he speak about his problems, because at least she was someone. But alone like he was now, he could neither waylay the fear nor explain it. It left him feeling incapable and weak – something John didn't take too kindly to.

"Balcony, that's where I'll go." John altered his course to one of the many balconies that Atlantis had. It seemed the Ancients loved the ocean as much as everyone else did – or maybe it was just because Atlantis could seem so claustrophobic at times.

He sucked in a quick breath as cool ocean air hit him square in the face. The door slid easily back into place, as John leaned over the rail to gaze into the ocean. Its waves were smooth, the lapping sound it created was soothing and John found himself forcing his eyes open. Yawning, he wondered if he should go back to bed – but the horizon was getting gradually lighter. Without much more than a single, fleeting thought, John sat down on the balcony and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

A/N: Wow,…that was six pages of writing on Microsoft Word! So what do you all think? Is John paranoid – or is there really something to fear? (And if you're wondering, yes I saw Episode 1 of Season 3 of Atlantis and loved it. I didn't realize this could easily fit in with it. Lol.) If you hate it, tell me why, likewise if you liked it. I look forward to constructive criticism and hearing about the things you liked/disliked. Please leave a review…it makes my day so much sweeter! 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own SGA…which is probably a good thing for the actors…

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, I didn't realize so many people were on the "alerts" list…so here's the chapter. Also, I'd like to apologize for a brief error (see bottom A/N)…anyway, read and enjoy. I am reposting this because I originally said Caldwell, when I meant Bates. BIG difference there!

NIGHTMARES

**Last Time: **_Without much more than a single, fleeting thought, John sat down on the balcony and promptly fell asleep._

"_John Sheppard? John!_" John awoke to a voice in his ear and it took him a moment to realize that it was his radio. He recognized Dr Weir's voice, the pitch one of concern.

"This is John Sheppard…over."

"_John, where are you?_" John took the moment to look around. A sudden breeze ruffled his hair and the salty air made his nose tingle.

"I'm on the balcony, why?" He stood and stretched, finding his legs were cramped and that he was slightly chilled.

"_We've been trying to find you for the last 30 minutes!_"

Oh, so that explained the worried tone. He glanced at his watch, surprised to find he had almost slept the morning away. The sun was up already, and he managed to smother a yawn.

"_Carson's absolutely livid with you as well. He says you're to come down to the infirmary _at once!" Dr Weir's voice increased slightly. It came back down to a semi-calm, more natural Weir level as she continued, "And I'd like you to come to my office when you have the chance."

"Tell him, I'm going there now." John shut off his radio before anyone else came to rant at him. He didn't mind being yelled at if he did something wrong – but for Pete's sake, did they really think he was going to avoid a trip to the infirmary? And even if he were, would he really go to all that trouble. _Yeah, no I'm just pretending I have nightmares and that I'm tired so that I can just pussy-foot around all day. Oh, and tell the wraith standing behind you that he can't eat me because I'm tired._

It took him a good bit longer to get to the infirmary than he expected, but that was what came of sleeping outside and on the balcony. He wasn't ready to meet with Carson's wrath – the worst part though, wasn't the ranting or the raving, but the quiet, evil-eyed looks the doc sent him.

"Well it looks like ye've finally decided to show up," Carson said contemptuously.

"Sorry," but the comment seemed to go unnoticed as the doc turned swiftly away. The cart appeared with the same iodine container, gauze, and tape that had been on it yesterday. _Was it only yesterday?_ John mused, before he was shocked out of his musings by pain.

"Ow," John muttered, as Carson undid the gauze around his arms. His wrists, surprisingly enough, were still sore.

"Aye, and there gonna be sore until you let them rest. Let that be a lesson to you." John remained quiet, deciding that that was his best course of action.

The iodine stung, maybe not as painfully as it first had, but it still burned enough to take his breath away. If Carson was getting back at him, he sure was doing a fantastic job – at least as far as pain and discomfort was associated.

"There," John looked down at his hands to find them re-bandaged. "Now, anything else I need to know about?" The doc eyed him critically, and John knew Carson could see through his bravado to stay alert.

"Other than the nightmares, no." John turned to leave, but Carson's firm hand on his shoulder caused John to flinch. He turned around to face the concerned doc. "Look, I'm not a three-year-old who needs a nightlight anymore." John stalked out, thinking it had been a close call.

"Hey, Sheppard!" Rodney's voice checked John in the hall, just after leaving the infirmary. "Care to try out some more gadgets?"

"Maybe later, Rodney, I've got some business to attend to." The physicist and colonel shared a grin as they did the mental image of the stacks of paperwork piled up on John's desk.

John was halfway to his office when his stomach growled loudly. He looked around, wondering if anyone was going to inquire about the noise, but the hall was vacant. _Where is everyone_, John mused, deciding instead to go to the dining hall.

He grabbed a tray, then reconsidered after remembering that his wrists couldn't handle any more weight. He chose the lighter things on the menu and carried them to the table where he sat down and began to wolf down the food. He went back for seconds, and then let the food settle while he leaned back and wondered if it was even worth going to his office for only a few hours of work.

Hating the feeling of doing nothing useful, John decided to get a little of the paperwork done. With his wrists as sore as they were, there wasn't much he could do, but he could grip a pen – or so he hoped. He sighed at the stack of papers waiting on his desk, before he began to leaf through them. Nothing but reports and security concerns, either from Rodney or Radek, or Bates.

"ZPM's, that's what we need," John muttered as his gaze roamed over the page. "Thank you Rodney." Yawning, he continued to read, but gradually it became harder and harder to keep his eyes peeled.

He dozed off, the report slipping from his hands as his head lowered onto the desk.

_He was back in the mustang, traveling at a high speed with the cop cars surrounding him. As though in a flash, John suddenly recalled why this highway looked so familiar. It was the same one he had been on in-route to the SGC. This meant the Wraith had already reached Earth!_

_Then suddenly, the scenery had changed, no longer was he in the mustang, instead he was in a Puddlejumper – or something similar. The knowledge that wraith darts were besieging him came instantaneously as he attempted to out maneuver them. And that was when he saw it._

_Ahead of him sat a large ship, larger than anything he had seen – asides from at a distance: a wraith hive ship. Silent and deadly, it let its prey approach before two critical blasts came from behind, bringing him closer to the hive ship. He tried with all his strength to avoid the hive ship, even trying to engage the hyper-speed on the Puddlejumper in hopes of making it over or below it. Nothing worked, and then a beam of light shone on him._

_He was in the hive ship, at least he figured it was the hive ship, and found himself cocooned in the webbing that he was all too familiar with. He tried to struggle, tried to call out for help, but no sound came, and the feeling of having been shot by a wraith stunner left its mark as he shivered._

_He looked up suddenly and found himself face to face with a wraith, its eyes staring at him in hunger. He couldn't help it, the webbing disappeared and John reacted out of pure instinct. He yelped, grabbing for his 9-mil and firing._

A loud bang startled John awake, as he jerked back. Confused and startled, he realized he was holding his 9-mil in his hand. He looked where it was pointing, and realized that there was a single hole in the wall opposite of him.

"Oh shit," John said, quickly turning the safety on and re-holstering the 9-mil. He waited for a moment, wondering if anyone was going to come and check on him, but apparently random shots fired from a gun was not a call for assistance.

"Now I'm losing it," John told himself, as he rearranged the papers on his desk. Almost as a second thought, he picked up a blank sheet of paper and drew a smiley face on it. Quickly he walked over to the bullet hole and stuck the paper over it. Now it would be decoration as well as concealment for the damage. "Sorry Atlantis," he muttered, "I'm headed for bed."

He reached his quarters with no incidents, other than the feeling of being spooked, but that he could attribute it to the fact he had fired in his sleep. What if someone had entered and was sitting across from him? What if he had accidentally shot someone – or worse, killed someone? What if – he could think of a million more scenarios and none made him feel better.

This time, in case of an incident, John placed his 9-mil onto the nightstand, along with his radio and watch. He dimmed the lights and eased his breathing, hoping to get some sleep tonight. He hadn't thought about it before, but he was tired and also a little cranky. Only a good night's sleep would cure that – but would tonight be that night?

John tossed and turned for a few minutes before finally settling down into a semi-conscious sleep.

The dream was the same as the one before, waking up with a wraith staring him right in the face, and ending with him trying to scrabble for his 9-mil, only to find he was unarmed. He gave out a cry, before jolting upright out of bed, beads of sweat on his brow.

It wasn't even midnight, and John was now thoroughly pissed. He wanted sleep – was that too much to ask? But now he couldn't even get a decent night's sleep without waking up every two hours. He scooted over a foot to the left in his bed and tried again, to fall asleep.

He gained another two hours of sleep, before the nightmare awoke him. That and the terrifying thought that he was waving his 9-mil around. Fortunately, both hands were empty when he looked at them through bleary eyes, and he rolled over, to try and go back to sleep.

He tried to fall back asleep, but instead came to the conclusion that he was going to be wide awake the rest of the night.

"Great," John moaned, as he rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. The lights were dimmed and his eyes protested the light, but otherwise he was fine. "Yeah, just keep telling yourself that."

Thoroughly disgusted at the fact that he was now wide awake, and pissed that he was going to be exhausted later, John threw the covers off and entered the bathroom. He looked down at his wrists and then didn't care what came of his actions. He began to unroll the gauze and let it fall to the floor.

His knuckles were healing, even if the skin was still tender – well so long as he didn't make a tight fist or hit a punching bag anytime soon, they would heal properly. His wrists were still a little stiff and sore, but nothing to hold him back much. So with his mind made up, John grabbed his 9-mil, radio and watch, and headed out for a walk.

"Colonel Sheppard?" John nearly rose a foot in the air, and his fingers were just itching to whip the 9-mil from its holster on his leg. Instead, he resisted, turning as dignified as he could, to see the man who had spooked him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Bates." He tried to make it sound friendly, as though he had expected him, but he wasn't sure.

"Yes sir," the man gave a brief salute, before looking at John closer. "Are you getting up or going to bed, sir?"

John paused, wondering why Bates was taking the time to stop him this late at night.

"I could ask you the same, Bates." John looked pointedly at the man. If there was one problem with Bates, it was that he didn't take a hint.

"I was just going to bed, sir, same as you should be."

Ooh, that was so not the right thing to say to an already pissed off colonel, especially one who's been having nightmares about wraith for three nights in a row.

"Listen, Bates, I'm only going to say this once," John paused for a brief moment, realizing he now had Bates's full attention. "What I do is my own damn business. Got that?"

"I disagree, sir."

The impudence John was getting, it wasn't called for. John realized he was holding himself back from shooting the man – the 9-mil sitting in its holster like a person within arm's reach of a wraith. Only John was no wraith, and he certainly wasn't going to shoot Bates – or so he hoped.

"Get some sleep, Bates," John said instead, wishing the man his own nightmares. Under his breath he muttered, "Don't let the wraith bugs bite."

With that unpleasant encounter over with and in the past, John headed for the nearest balcony, then decided against it, and went for one that was further out in the city. He had to use a transporter – no big deal since he arrived in the blink of an eye to the location he had selected – then thought the door open.

There was no breeze this time, nothing but the sound of water lapping at the base of Atlantis – and he could only just hear it if he held his breath. He leaned over the balcony rail, looking down into the water and wondering what kinds of sea-creatures inhabited the waters. It wasn't like the Ancients had documented animals in their ocean.

Of course, you couldn't really call a shark a threat to Atlantis. Somehow a fish just can't instill the same amount of fear that a gigantic tidal wave or monumental attack by wraith can. Even the databases that the Ancients had were filled with minimal information. They were lucky if the planets were documented on having life or not. That was why the MALPs were so important.

Yes, he still remembered sending that one into outer space, through the coordinates that the then Lt Ford had memorized. It was still a sore spot: that Lt Ford had gone, made crazy by that stupid Wraith enzyme. There wasn't anyone to blame except the wraith, and that did no good. They'd just as readily eat you as soon as look at you. Though they might make an exception in John's case.

Dimly, he wondered if lack of sleep would be distasteful to the wraith, but he wasn't willing to risk it. Besides, if he had his way, he'd much rather gun down a dozen or so wraith than dream that they were feeding off him. He shivered despite the warm night air. There was just something unnatural about the way they stole a person's life – forcing them to age until death claimed them. Or a friend took pity; John recalled Sumner and the bullet he had sent through the wraith-keeper's hand as well as his friend's heart.

"I forgave myself – even _he_ forgave me. There was nothing I could have done!" John forced himself to put that behind him, it was the only thing he could do…just like what he had had to do when his two friends were killed in Khabour.

"Okay, concentrate on the water…or go to sleep." John blinked as he gazed down into the darkness where the water was lapping at Atlantis.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, the error was in a previous chapter when Teyla says they have a mission's briefing at 1300 hours the next day (this day) anyway, I'm pushing it back to next chapter – so we'll get to see what more trouble our favorite Lt. Col gets himself into! Also, the place where Mitch and Dex were killed: I looked it up and it's correctly spelled. So, yeah, sorry about all that. So if I haven't lost all you readers yet, please leave a review? 


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SGA, mostly because I don't have the money, nor do I have enough substantial ideas for plots. Lol.

**A/N:** I apologize ahead of time for this chapter – it's kind of a filler chapter since I don't want to get to the better part of the story until next time. Besides, I haven't quite written it yet…Please don't kill me! It'll be up soon, especially since I've got an idea of where to take it! Hehe, oh, and please don't forget to Review…it makes my day so much sweeter! Okay, sorry to keep y'all waiting, here's the chapter:

NIGHTMARES

Bates hadn't believed for a moment that Lt. Col. John Sheppard was going to his quarters, especially since the colonel had taken off in the opposite direction. It was no secret that the two of them didn't see eye-to-eye, just inconvenient. Especially because Bates was wondering just what was going on with his CO. Sure it was like him to be snippy, but he seemed more so than usual. And he had muttered something under his breath at him too.

Bates knew there was nothing he could do about it for now, it being late and all. Also, Dr Weir was asleep, and she wouldn't take kindly to Bates waking her up to discuss the problems with John Sheppard. It could wait, he decided, for the morning – to be dealt with at the mission's briefing. He smiled grimly, John would love that. Oh, he could already see the fury and wrath on the Lt. Col's face.

So with his course of action plotted out, Bates headed to his quarters, looking forward to some decent sleep.

The next morning dawned early and inconveniently for one sleepy and nearly dead-tired Lieutenant Colonel. Sleep had remained elusive and out of reach, try as he might to actually close his eyes. But each time he did so, the dream was there, hovering just out of reach and yet tantalizingly close. His mind raced at the prospect of shooting wraith – he needed something to do, and hopefully the mission's briefing would give his mind an outlet.

He grabbed some coffee and what looked like scrambled eggs, high-tailing it out of the mess hall to eat somewhere less crowded. He had a headache, not surprising since he wasn't getting much sleep, but if he went to Carson to get Tylenol, the man would rake him over the coals. And being sent to Kate was no less appealing than the scrambled eggs on his plate.

John gulped the eggs down, savoring the coffee and feeling something like energy begin to return to his worn out body. All nightmares and no sleep make John a dull boy, he thought dismally, as he headed over to the briefing room.

He arrived early, no bad thing since he could take the time to relax and compose himself. What he hadn't expected was for Sergeant Bates to come walking in, not 10 minutes after Sheppard had sat down.

"Colonel," the sergeant nodded respectfully, as though forgetting about last night.

"Sergeant," the colonel nodded in return, though the glimmer in his eyes told the sergeant that he hadn't forgotten.

An awkward silence filled the room as they waited for the other members of John's team to come to the room, as well as for Dr. Weir.

"Well this is an interesting spectacle," Elizabeth's dry tone conveyed both amusement and wariness as she observed the two men who seemed to dislike each other intentionally. "I must admit, I didn't think I'd see you here, Colonel Sheppard."

That got John's attention real quick. He nearly spun in his chair, as he sized up both opponents in the space of a single moment.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What it means, Colonel, is that we know you're not sleeping well." Bates's voice was grating on John's nerves. What little patience the colonel had left was waning fast.

"Carson is concerned about you, John, he thinks you're not sleeping properly." Elizabeth tried to step in, but didn't realize she was only backing up Bates's statement and fueling John's anger.

"Like all of us get decent sleep around here anyway? What about the wraith attacking – how many of us got sleep that night? How many people get their forty-winks at night? Look, all I'm saying is that I need to go on a mission. This mission."

"And all we're saying, Colonel, is that your lack of sleep could potentially be harmful on this mission." John glared at Bates, missing Elizabeth's sigh of exasperation.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon were standing in the doorway, peeking in as though the room was filled with wraith.

"No, you're all just in time for the briefing. Colonel, sergeant, if you could quit your feud long enough to just hear the mission out?" The two men looked up and Elizabeth cleared her throat in preparation for the briefing.

"Okay, the mission is simply recon, go to planet P3X-457, check for signs of life, if there are people we should strike up a trade or an alliance of some sort." Elizabeth paused briefly, sending a significant look at John who'd been known to goof up such matters on other occasions. She continued, "If there aren't any people, check to see what the planet has to offer, then report back to me." She gazed around the table, seeing suspicion and judgmental glances pass around the group. "Does anyone have any questions?"

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I think that Colonel Sheppard is unfit to go on this expedition. The lack of sleep he's been getting has obviously begun to interfere with his ability to lead and…"

"Oh, obviously," John rolled his eyes, his patience thinner than the metaphorical straw that broke the camel's back.

"…And I think it would be a bad idea if he fell asleep on the job."

Was Bates serious? John had to look at the sergeant to be sure the man wasn't smiling, or laughing, but the face was serious. John had to cover up a mirthless laugh, turning it into a cough, as he tried to come up with a retort. Unfortunately, Rodney beat him to it.

"Colonel Sheppard fall asleep on the job? Sergeant, he's been doing nothing if not saving our asses. So what if he's having trouble getting sleep? I've been up late toying with projects knowing that I've had a mission in the morning."

"Yes, but Dr. McKay, you're not essential to the mission. You barely touch your 9-mil on occasions when you're surrounded, and even then, you only pull the trigger a time or two." Bates was glaring at the scientist, who was glaring back.

"Rodney is as essential to the mission as Teyla and Ronon and I am, Bates." John sent a warning glance over to Ronon, in case the Satedan decided to insert his two cents worth in the conversation. Thankfully, Ronon kept his silence, though he wasn't thrilled with it.

"Very well. You disembark as soon as you're geared up." Elizabeth stepped in before anything worse could come of the situation. She didn't think this was a good idea, but she also knew that spare time would only convince John of the need to go on a mission. Sooner was better than later, or so she hoped.

John left the briefing room, psyched for the mission, and hoping that he would be able to get rid of the nightmare plaguing him. As he geared up, his adrenalin began to pulse through him, ridding whatever exhaustion might have remained.

At last he was ready, P90 in place and 9-mil holstered on his leg, and John returned to the Stargate. His team was already waiting for him, looking eager to go through the 'gate. And now that he thought about it, it had been a while since they had last gone through.

"You are a go." Elizabeth Weir watched as they dialed up the Stargate, and the event horizon coalesced – a shimmering blue. She whispered after their demolecularizing forms, "Good luck."

John sucked in a deep breath as he scanned the immediate area surrounding the Stargate. The Stargate was sitting on the grass as opposed to a stone altar that other planets had. The grass was quite high, knee level, as opposed to mid calf or ankle level. And so far, there didn't seem to be any sign of life.

"The Life Signs Detector isn't picking up anything, neither are my other instruments." Leave it to Rodney to get the group moving in a random direction.

"Do we even know how far the Life Signs Detector's range is?" The question just sort of popped out of John's mouth.

"Uh, no, probably not far…" Rodney was tinkering with the gadget again.

"Okay team, let's move out." John began to walk away from the Stargate, picking a random direction since there didn't seem to be any paths. "Ronon, keep an eye out for tracks, you too Teyla. Rodney, don't get lost. I'll be wandering around, if you need anything, use the radio."

John confiscated the Life Signs Detector that Rodney was still fidgeting with, putting up with the scientist's whining that he was going to need it.

"Can it Rodney, hang out with Ronon if you don't want to be left vulnerable." The scientist timidly glanced out at the large Satedan who was, at that moment, crouched in the grass, looking like a wild animal about to attack.

"Yeah, that would definitely bring about my demise much sooner than anticipated."

John, with P90 pointing down and his eyes scouring the layout of the land, wondered what this dismal planet had to offer. That was before he heard footsteps approaching rapidly from behind him. He turned, P90 half aimed at whoever approached and was mildly surprised to find Ronon following him.

"Ronon, did you find any tracks?" John looked hopefully to Ronon, who shook his head.

Their quiet companionship was cut short when Rodney made a startled yelp. It was only after they joined him that they learned it was out of pure joy.

"Look, I'm picking up an energy source. It could be a Zed-PM." Rodney sifted through his gear, adjusting his energy reading instruments. "It's coming from that way. Let's go!" Rodney began to lead the way, his one-track mind focused only on getting to whatever it was that was activating his instruments.

"Teyla, did you find anything."

"I did not, I am not sure if this planet is inhabited, as we have yet to find anything." Teyla's voice was soft, but her eyes were watchful.

They seemed to walk for a while, the grasses stretching on to the horizon and beyond, or so John assumed. He wasn't exactly willing to find out if the planet was mostly grass, but to all appearances, it seemed uninhabited.

"So, Rodney, how much farther is this…thing?" John was getting tired of looking at the same old picture, and the walking was getting old. He preferred to think they'd been walking a while, even though he knew it was his exhaustion kicking in.

"Not much…"

Another hour passed, John trying to conceal the exhaustion that was quickly sapping whatever strength he had left. He could feel his feet getting heavier with each stride, and he struggled to avoid tripping over his feet. It probably hadn't been the best idea to spend last night out on the balcony, he mused, as he concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other.

He was only too grateful when Rodney called a halt, checking his devices to see if they were closer. The knee-high grasses soon gave way to a forest of sorts, the thin trunks of the trees were spread apart, giving it almost an orchard feel. John didn't care, he just wanted to sit down and catch his breath.

"Okay, we're really close now." Rodney snuck a look over to John, expecting a sarcastic remark. John hated to disappoint the scientist, especially with the smug look on his face, but he was short on breath at the moment.

"Which way?" Ronon filled in the silence with his own question.

"This way, I'm sure it's coming from this direction." Rodney began to walk away, and then suddenly stopped. He turned, took a few paces, only to pause again and change direction.

"You do know that you're walking circles, right?" At last, John had the strength to snark at Rodney, as slight as it might be.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but, these energy readings are confusing."

"I am sure that Rodney is doing all he can." Teyla was rewarded with a glare from Rodney.

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, and now if you three would hush up, I could track this better, and…hello." Rodney's voice quickly changed gear as he solved the puzzle only he knew was there. "I think I found it."

Saying that, Rodney pointed up into the tree; "So…who feels like climbing up into that tree?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the delay – I had to type this up, and I promise that the next chapter will be better. I just had to get this off my mind and simply write, to stave off the inevitable writer's block that has been plaguing me since day one. (It was simply too good to be true, writing this far into the story to not have writer's block.) Anyway, please leave a review, if nothing else tell me what to improve…as in, sticking with the Plot (now there's an idea!). Thanks my faithful reviewers – it is you, who keep me encouraged XD 


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SGA – because who in their right mind would confuse three (three!) different people! Lol. Long story.

**A/N:** Okay, I made a serious blunder…but I'm just going to keep going with what I have so far. Sorry for all you Lorne fans…I had a, um, revelation and realized Lorne Isn't the Bad Guy. It's supposed to be Bates. So…uh, yeah. Really sorry about all that. Now if I haven't lost ALL credibility...please read and review?

NIGHTMARES

It was decided that Teyla would have the esteemed honor of climbing the tree, for Rodney was out of shape, Ronon was too large, and John was too tired to stand, let alone climb a tree. Teyla readily accepted the responsibility, and with everyone looking on, she quickly clambered up the long trunk.

"What do you see?" Rodney called up to her, his eyes alert and nervous energy making him twitch with anticipation.

"I see only leaves and twigs, Rodney." Teyla called back down to the scientist, who stood there looking befuddled.

"Well, look for something not normal; a hole or something in the trunk…" Rodney waited impatiently as Teyla began to scour the tree trunk for anything of the sort.

"I think I may know where it is. There's a rather large hole…"

Rodney was now bouncing with the excitement. "That's gotta be it," he half murmured to Teyla, half to himself. "Reach in and pull it out."

"That is much easier said than done, Rodney, might there be some wild creatures in there?" Teyla voiced the concern that Ronon and John were thinking of – or would be if they weren't watching their surroundings.

"Yes yes, it's possible, but there could be a Zed-PM in there."

"Why would the Ancients place a ZPM in a tree? It's not like this tree is 10,000 years old, after all." Ronon was glancing quizzically up in the tree. He had wanted to climb the tree, but after the snide remark made about his weight, he had let it go.

"I don't know, I'm sure the Ancients had lots of reasons for why they did things, like building a city in the middle of an ocean when there was 15 million square miles of perfectly good land less than half an hour from it." Rodney's voice was less than pleased as he watched Teyla place her arm in the tree.

Teyla gritted her teeth and reached into the unknown of the tree, timidly searching out for anything un-tree-like. Her fingers brushed against something soft and furry, and Teyla had to convince herself not to yell in surprise at touching a spider. Besides, it could have been a caterpillar, she thought to herself. She felt around some more, gritting her teeth and hoping that whatever resided in the hole didn't attack her hand, before she felt something foreign and un-tree-like.

"Rodney? I think I found it." Teyla extracted her arm, along with the foreign object. She took a moment to study it, but knew nothing else other than the fact that it was a small, flat square with a couple of blinking objects on it.

"Oh, great!" Rodney couldn't hide his excitement as he impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, awaiting Teyla to descend the tree. She took her time, much to his annoyance.

"Well it's about time," he muttered when she finally handed it to him. The devices in his other hand went bonkers as he sighed blissfully. There were some days when it seemed nothing went right, and then there were others when everything fell perfectly into place. It seemed today was the day everything was going perfect – other than the fact that the planet had no inhabitants. He could certainly do with a meal.

John, meanwhile, was gazing around at the trees, wondering how much longer he could keep his eyes peeled. The lack of sleep was really getting to him today, and it was harder to open his eyelids each time he blinked. He forced them open, knowing that if and when he fell asleep, the nightmare would reappear.

"We should stay overnight." Ronon's comment was met with nods all around. John had to agree, even if he did go back to Atlantis, he probably wouldn't sleep as well. Besides, there was something about sleeping on another planet that might prove the nightmares to abate. He wasn't sure, but the only true method was to try it out.

"I agree," John muttered, as Teyla and then Rodney agreed.

It didn't take long to build a fire and unroll the emergency blankets they carried with them. Elizabeth had made sure they were prepared, in case they had to spend the night. It was too bad they hadn't come across any sign of life – so they made a meal of powerbars.

John closed his eyes as he lay down, and didn't even feel himself hit the ground. He was out quicker than a fleeting thought, and just as quick came the nightmare.

_His first thought was no more than a groan that the nightmare had found him, but he was already whisked away to the dark side._

_He was walking listlessly in the middle of a forest, on a planet he hadn't been on before. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as he realized that he was being followed. He shot glances around him, but the thick trees obscured his view and whatever pursuers were behind him._

_He continued to walk, feeling lost and wondering where his team was. He stopped suddenly, looking in earnest, but found and heard nothing. A twig popped somewhere in the near distance and a chill crawled up his spine. He wondered if it were wraith or merely wild animals, and neither made him more confident._

_He reached for his P90, hoping to shed light on the dark shadows surrounding him, and that was when he had the terrifying revelation. He was unarmed. He wore neither P90 nor 9-mil, nor even the simple knife usually swinging at the back of his belt. He felt pure fear, as he heard something approaching him from behind._

_He whirled, and found himself face to face with a wraith. The eyes seemed to drive deep into John's and the malicious intent was enough to make him sweat. John's eyes flickered to the wraith's hand as it drew back, preparing for the feast before it. That was shortly before something hard collided on John's back, filling him with pain._

_He tried a call for help, but he didn't know if anyone was around – or alive. His team should be there, he knew, but that was before he was knocked abruptly on his side by a vicious slap. He could find unconsciousness beginning to reach for him, but despite this being only a nightmare, he resisted it._

_That was until he felt what seemed to be webbing clinging to him. He struggled, feeling a strong hand upon his chest, and accompanied by a rough shaking. He figured it was only to stir his blood up, and without thinking, he went to fire on whatever it was._

John didn't think he'd wake up a second time, holding his gun after the sound of it firing had awakened him. He hadn't considered the possibility that anyone would be standing over him, or shaking him awake. He hadn't even given thought that it would be Rodney who stood staring at him in fear and shock.

"Rodney?" John saw the scientist come back to himself with a startled nod. For a moment he let himself believe that he had missed, as the scientist quickly forced his 9-mil down to the ground.

"You-you shot me!" Rodney looked at John more in surprise than in pain. It took John a few seconds to understand, but suddenly he looked at the scientist's pale face.

"Oh god, Rodney, I didn't mean to…" John could feel his heart picking up speed, hammering away in his chest. He forced himself to look the scientist over, wincing as he saw the spot of red growing considerably quick on the left thigh.

"Guess you got your wish, to finally shoot me," Rodney gasped, before his legs folded beneath him. John barely caught him before he hit the ground.

"Teyla! Ronon! Help!" How the two had slept through his gun going off, John didn't know, but he needed their help now. If nothing more than to get Rodney back to Atlantis and into Carson's care.

The two instantly awakened, at the same time as Rodney's limp frame slipped from the colonel's suddenly loose grasp. Was it his imagination, or were there wraith now surrounding them? The wraith were smiling their smiles of death as they brought their stunners up.

"Get down!" John brought his 9-mil up and began to fire at the wraith. It felt like a dream, up until the point when someone knocked the pistol from his hand.

"Colonel Sheppard, snap out of it! There's no one around!" Teyla's voice did not match the brute strength with which the pistol had been knocked out of his hands.

"Teyla is right, if there are any, you'll only be alerting them to our presence." Ronon's voice cut in.

"But…" John looked around, he could barely see them, but it wasn't like Teyla or Ronon to ignore them. Unless… "Teyla, do you sense any wraith?"

"I do not, and there hasn't been anyone here other than ourselves. Should we not get Rodney McKay back through the Stargate?" That brought John's attention back to what he had done.

"Oh, god, I didn't mean to shoot him…"

"We know, now let's get going. We should make it to the Stargate in time." Teyla's voice of reasoning was lost on Sheppard's ears as he flinched and glared to his left.

He could have sworn he saw something – a wraith something. He watched as Teyla and Ronon hauled Rodney to his feet, the scientist moaning as his leg refused to support any weight. Another flicker of movement to his left landed John's hands on the P90 and a barrage of bullets hailing toward whatever it had been.

"John, there's nothing there! Help us get Rodney back to the Stargate."

"I'm staying behind to keep the wraith from attacking you," John stated.

"There are no wraiths!" Ronon's voice was a growl.

"Yes. There. Are."

"Are you coming with us, or not?"

"I'm staying behind to cover our six."

John missed the glimmer in the Runner's eyes as Ronon realized what he had to do.

"If you're not going to come willingly…" John had half turned, into the path of the incoming fist. Blackness swallowed John whole, even as he fought to stay alert and try to fire a few bullets at the wraith apparently only he could see coming. The P90 was ripped from his hands as the darkness descended.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, maybe not the best place to leave off for the next chapter, but in all honesty, I only see one more chapter coming – maybe two. So...sorry for the delay…and REALLY sorry for the extreme error! (And I call myself a Stargate Atlantis fan…) 


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SGA – I'm not creative enough to come up with plots.

**A/N:** This chapter was hard to write for me, but I hope the rest of you enjoy it. The next chapter should be better – will be better. Heh heh heh. More whumpage to come…maybe.

**NIGHTMARES**

John managed to resurface to the brink of consciousness enough to realize that they were nearly at the Stargate. He was being hauled none-too-gently by Ronon, while Teyla was struggling with the unconscious Rodney. He was deposited roughly on the ground, at which John managed to climb to his feet.

"Well, thanks for the lift, Ronon," John half-kidded, rubbing the back of his head. "Thanks also for the headache."

"You weren't thinking clearly," Ronon replied, unapologetically. He glanced around, in the process looking up at the sky, which was lightening as the sun was rising.

"He did only what he had to do, Colonel Sheppard." Teyla's voice was lined with exhaustion from carrying the 'lightweight' scientist.

"Yeah, well, it still hurt…" John blinked before letting his eyes pan their surroundings. Something had caught his attention – again. "Teyla, have you sensed anything? Anything at all?"

Teyla shook her head. "I have not. Colonel, there are no wraith around."

John heard, but he didn't believe her. Perhaps the wraith had grown wise to Teyla's ability to "hear" them and were keeping their presence a secret. It wasn't unheard of for the wraith to be able to sneak up on his team before. Or that they learned from previous experiences.

"Give me back my P90, Ronon." The Runner turned, pausing before striding off again.

"Not until we get back to Atlantis." His voice was inscrutable.

"Ronon…it's not a request," John nearly growled.

"Give it back to him, Ronon," Teyla advised, and the Runner did as she said, though not without a serious look directed straight at John.

With his P90 back in hand, John calmed down a bit. He was back in control – if not of his team, than of the situation, should someone or something attack.

"We should get going," Ronon spoke needlessly, going over to Teyla to help her carry Rodney the rest of the way. "Don't fire unless you see something."

"Ronon, we all know I leave the random shooting to Rodney…" John's voice trailed off as he looked at his friend.

"You're an excellent shot in your sleep." Ronon lifted the upper half of Rodney, while Teyla got the lower half. The wound still bled, albeit sluggishly.

"Neither of you thought to put a field dressing on it?" John asked in concern, going over to the unconscious scientist.

"It's nearly quit bleeding, he'll be fine once Carson sees him." Ronon and Teyla began to haul the scientist off, heading for the Stargate.

They approached slowly enough for John to begin mulling over whether or not he had seen the wraith in the first place. Before Ronon had knocked him out. A flurry of movement off to his left, forced him to merely twitch as he tried to hide his paranoia of something following them.

He kept his eyes peeled on the distant horizon, trying to increase his peripheral vision, but he saw nothing.

"I'll dial," John began, taking a step towards the DHD. That was when he did turn to take a precursory glance around the clearing.

"Colonel Sheppard? Is something wrong?" Teyla's voice dimly reached John's ears.

"Oh no," he muttered, letting out an oath. "Teyla?" He tore his eyes away from what he had been staring at, long enough to meet Teyla's gaze. She was calm, concerned for him, but not looking overly worried as when wraith attacks occurred. Ronon too, was gazing at him in much the same way a bull regards a red flag, more out of annoyance than anything else. And if there were wraith around, Ronon would have been firing already.

"I'm fine," John snapped, as he finished dialing the Stargate and turned to help Teyla and Ronon carry Rodney through.

He wasn't fine though, far from it. He threw a few glances behind him, seeing shadows flitting from one bush to another. There was something out there. That was until he saw it. White hair stirred by the slight breeze, pale face glimmering in hunger and anticipation, the wraith was staring at them. And John knew why.

"Go!" He suddenly yelled, pushing Ronon ahead of him as he turned and let loose a barrage of bullets. The wraith disappeared, only to be replaced by another one, and soon more appeared. For every one he shot, two or three more appeared. John knew he was surrounded, but he didn't realize how close they were until he felt something solid connect with his jaw.

He turned and tried to fire at it, but a rough hand seized the P90 and ripped it from his grasp. Ronon's face came into view, seething with rage and…what might have been called fear.

"There's no one there, Sheppard!" He took John's vest in one hand and literally dragged the colonel towards the Stargate.

"No! Give me back my P90! Ronon! They're all around us! We're cut off from the Stargate!" John pleaded, trying to get Ronon to see what he obviously couldn't see. "The wraith have some sort of invisibility shield – they can get past Teyla's-"

"Sheppard! There are no wraith!" Ronon rounded on the colonel, eyes filled with fury.

"But…there are." John quit struggling long enough to ensue that Ronon paused in mid-stride.

"If you're going to walk decently…" Ronon began, handing the P90 back to Sheppard. Why he did such a stupid thing, he'd never know, or find out, but he knew it was a mistake the moment he did it.

The two stepped through the Stargate…

…and reappeared on Atlantis' side. John wiped the sweat from his face, turning to watch as the Event Horizon shut down. Before he realized it, he had shot a fine spray of bullets from his P90, straight into the Event Horizon just as it shut down.

"Colonel Sheppard, what the hell are you doing?" Elizabeth Weir's asked in confusion and startlement.

"Wraith – we encountered wraith back there," John gasped out, breathing heavily from the adrenalin coursing through his veins.

"Dr Weir, we require Carson's medical care – Rodney is injured." That got Elizabeth's attention.

"What? How? Wraith attack?"

Ronon and Teyla looked at each other for a moment before replying simultaneously: "No."

"Not wraith attack?" Dr Weir's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and irritation. She wanted answers now, not conflicting views.

"Aye, where's m'patient?" Carson entered, medical team in tow along with a gurney.

"It is Rodney, he's been shot in the left thigh." Teyla offered, ignoring Ronon's glare.

"Shot in the thigh, by what?"

"A P90," Ronon stepped in, earning a look of gratitude from Teyla.

"And none of you thought to put a field dressing on it!" Carson didn't spare his time to glance sharply at the three, instead allowing his med team to dress the wound and rush Rodney off to the infirmary.

John still gripped his P90 tightly, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping it steady and trained at the event horizon. He was aware enough to note that Elizabeth was coming down to them, but he couldn't quite believe that only one wraith managed to infiltrate Atlantis.

"John, what happened?"

He turned, saying, "We have a serious problem. The wraith have discovered how to cloak themselves from Teyla and even Ronon's sight. We were nearly compromised just a few moments ago."

"That's what you have to say for yourselves? What about Rodney?" John fell silent, looking guiltily at the floor.

"Colonel Sheppard shot him." Ronon's brief statement made all the personnel look at John.

"You shot him!" Elizabeth Weir rounded on John, forcing him to take a step back and point his P90 at the floor.

"Not intentionally – I had a bad dream and fired in my sleep. Rodney just happened to be beside me when that happened." John spoke defensively, knowing he was doing absolutely nothing for his side of the argument.

"John, you cannot just shoot someone! Go to the infirmary right now. Ronon, make sure he gets there."

Never before had John seen Elizabeth so irate, her eyes filled with fury and wrath, and her body language portrayed what her mouth and face had failed to. Ronon came up swiftly behind John, grabbing the P90 from his hands before John had a chance to react.

"Let's go." Ronon's voice sounded almost bored, but then the runner hadn't seen what John had seen, nor was the terrible wrath of Weir directed at him.

It was a long walk to the infirmary, made longer only by the fact that John kept scuffing his shoes against the smooth hallways of Atlantis. That and dread of seeing how Rodney was doing, made John want to delay the walk and his arrival time.

"Ronon, I'm fine, I don't need to go visit the infirmary." John pleaded, hoping he could talk sense into this man.

"Then tell me why you were going trigger happy when no one was around." Ronon's voice was inscrutable, but John had lost his incentive to talk. They had already come to the infirmary.

John turned as though to walk in, but at the last minute, executed a smart about-face and tried to avoid walking in. He nearly ended up doing a face-plant against the Satedan. Ronon's hands roughly turned John around, forcing him into the infirmary and towards the nearest bed.

John couldn't refuse Ronon's strength, and he gave out a sigh as he perched atop the bed. A nurse came over, giving him a precursory glance before going to inform Carson – or so he hoped.

Either Rodney wasn't that seriously injured, or the med team had dashed straight to the infirmary after leaving the Gate room, because Carson was only a few moments before coming to inspect John.

"And were you shot too, Colonel?" John tensed, feeling Ronon's pressure increase on his shoulder.

"Dr Weir said you should have a look at him. He's fired randomly in his sleep, and is seeing wraith hallucinations." The Satedan easily filled the silence, ignoring the glare John sent him.

"How is Rodney?" John asked, trying to relieve the tension and also trying to re-direct Carson's focus.

"He's doing well enough, though it was lucky the bullet pierced where it did. Any higher…well, he'll be fine for the most part. Psychologically though, I don't think he'll want to be around you when you're sleeping." Carson sighed, pulling out his penlight and stethoscope. "Well, since you're here, I might as well have a look at you."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay…well I left off here because the next chapter is gonna be pretty good (I'm hoping). I'm not a violent person, so it's hard for me to write such scenes, but I'm doing my best! Please don't forget to leave a review – it's what staves off the Writers Block and gives me inspiration to write. I'd like to thank all my reviewers who've kept up so far – you're words of encouragement help keep me going! Thank you SO much! ((For those of you interested – I see possibly 2 more chapters – unless I can drag out the next part I have planned…so, if you want to see something, now's your chance to tell me!)) I was gonna put a dancing kirby up, but the arrows didn't show up half the time: (>o.o)> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own SGA…they get themselves into enough trouble without my help.

**A/N:** I want to thank Stealth Dragon for the incentive in this chapter and the next, and I hope it's what you had in mind. I must admit though, this was a NIGHTMARE for me to write…countless revisions, etc. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

NIGHTMARES

John couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him, spying on him, or the paranoia resulting from the fact that no one else had seen anything. Usually he was the one relying on Ronon or Teyla to spot or sense the wraith coming – but this new shield capability it seemed the wraith now utilized was getting on his nerves. The nerves, in turn, were making John lose his patience and self-control. Coupled with that, was the lack of sleep, which after every blink seemed to try and suck him into blissful darkness.

That darkness, however, kept getting pulled back, like a lure just out of range of a fish's gaping mouth. Always with the nightmares, just as he would succumb to blissful sleep, he would awaken shortly after, breathing hard and heart racing. In fact, he didn't realize he had been dozing until Carson's voice and tapping on his shoulder brought him back to the land of the semi-conscious.

He opened his eyes, heavily lidded, and saw the torture device in Carson's fist, the penlight cleverly hidden, but not well enough for the colonel. A flicker of movement just behind Carson caught John's attention as he opened his eyes wide enough to use his peripheral vision. It wasn't needed though as utter horror and fear seeped through him.

There, just beyond Carson's right shoulder, the same side the penlight was concealed in, it stood. White hair flowing down to its shoulders, menacing face glittering with the need to feed, the wraith smiled at John before reaching a hand towards Carson…

"Noooo!" John cried out, launching himself forward with such violence and such suddenness that it caught both Carson and Ronon off guard. John tackled the would-be feeding wraith, in the process taking down Carson as well.

"John, bloody hell, what d'ya think yer doin'?" Carson cried out, recovering from his surprise enough to push John off of him and regain his feet.

"I saw – a wraith." John panted, when suddenly a hand descended on his shoulder. He leapt a foot, whirling, but found only Carson and Ronon staring at him. The hand had fallen away quickly, and John realized it had only been Carson offering to pull him to his feet.

"Well, there's no wraith in here, now let's get you checked out so we can figure out why you're hallucinating."

"But, I'm not hallucinating!" John glanced from Carson to Ronon, seeing nothing but confusion reflected in their eyes.

"Colonel, how long has it been since you've gotten a decent amount of sleep?"

"That's not the point…" John began, but was cut off by Carson.

"That long, aye? Colonel, John," Carson started, his eyes getting that sharper look that means a lecture is on the way. "Do you know why you're seeing things when everyone else isn't? Do you know why it's important to get at least eight hours of sleep? It's so your body can function properly. I'd be saying, by the way you're carrying on, that you haven't slept much, if at all in the last 72 hours. Am I right?"

John thought about it, letting his reasoning come into play. Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he turned towards Carson.

"Then how do you explain this?" He demanded, roughly yanking his shirt up and over his head to reveal the hand-shaped bruise on his chest.

The sharp intake of breath from both Carson and Ronon made John wonder if he shouldn't have tried to hide it from them. Well, in any case, they would've found out and probably figured he was self-mutilating himself.

He sucked in a breath as Carson began to probe the bruise, but he stepped back a moment later, satisfied.

"Well, whatever happened, it didn't break any ribs – just a minor contusion. How did you get this?" Carson and Ronon seemed to be looking into his very soul.

"I had a nightmare," John confided to them, "When I woke up, it was already there."

Ronon was already giving him a disapproving glare, but Carson was looking serious and slightly worried.

John shivered suddenly in the cool infirmary air, and wished he hadn't yanked his shirt off so readily. To be honest, the hand-shaped bruise over his heart gave him the willies. Whoever had thought to play a practical joke had gone seriously overboard.

"Colonel, do you think you did this yourself?" John looked up as the words met his ears and a look of utter horror appeared on his face.

"Why would I want to do this to myself?" he demanded.

"Let me see your hand…" Carson reached for his hand before John had a chance to secure it by his side. The doctor raised John's hand to his (John's) chest, apparently trying to make a connection between the bruise and John being the culprit. "Just as I thought, it matches your own hand, colonel."

"But, that can't be…" John winced at his favorite word of late. Even to his ears, his excuse was weak.

"I'm going to keep you here for two nights, colonel, to make sure you get some sleep. After that, providing you're feeling better and are acting normal, I'll release you to your quarters. Sound good?"

Did it, John wondered, glancing at the doctor who seemed confident, and at last released a sigh. It didn't matter, there was just no reasoning with the doctor when he got into a mood such as this.

"Fine," John agreed, unhappily, as he realized he was more than likely sitting where he would no doubt be sleeping. "But no wires or IV or anything, I'm not sick." He didn't realize he was playing straight into Carson's hands.

"I don't think we'll have to go there, at least not yet. If you do have trouble sleeping though, I can give you something for it." Something in John tried to shudder as he wondered if he would readily awaken from a nightmare if his body were drug-induced.

"I'm not a baby," he retorted, seeing Carson turn to try and cover a grin. Ronon was merely looking at him with amusement. "I'm not."

"Well, let's get you settled into one of the back rooms where it'll be quieter." Carson persuaded him after John failed to smother a yawn.

"I'm not tired…" he mumbled as the doctor led him further back into the infirmary.

"Of course you're not, colonel. Here, lay down here, and there'll be one of the nurses to check on you if you need anything."

"Can I have my shirt back?" John asked, as he sat up after leaning against the semi-coarse sheets.

"Oh, right." John slipped his shirt back on, laying back and a moment later, slipped into the darkness of sleep, while Carson smiled and Ronon seemed to relax.

Frankly, it was harder than he had thought to resist the beck and call of sleep. Lying down it was impossible to not succumb to the blissfulness of sleep that bordered on unconsciousness.

The nurse peered into his room, watching as he shifted slightly in his sleep, before she left, a smile on her face. It was a first that Sheppard was in the infirmary and not injured. She had to hand it to Carson, he could be quite persuasive at times. With that, she went to go clean some medical supplies before checking in on John again.

_He stood before John, his back turned towards him so that John could not see who it was. All he saw was a man who appeared to be of similar height, and stocky. Then a brief flash of movement caught at his peripheral vision and he turned, bringing up his P90 in a fluid movement._

_It was now that he realized where he was – somewhere deep in a hive ship, the massive and multiple passageways around him and this other guy. The phantom shadows appeared and John wasted a few rounds firing at them, wondering why he did when he knew it would reveal their location._

"_Come, follow me." The strange man led John away from where they stood, and the maze of passageways that created the hive ship soon began to blur into one long tunnel as the man seemed to know where he was going._

_John risked a glance back and immediately wished he hadn't, as his eyes landed on a dozen wraith following them. He turned and took a few shots, but the man again urged him on._

"_Don't waste your bullets, they won't work." The man paused and seemed to be considering which passage to take, as the particular one they were in forked to either the left or right. "This way, hurry."_

_They were speed-walking down the passageways of a hive ship, and if John had thought about it properly, he might have laughed at how ridiculous this was. But all thoughts of laughter vanished when John came to a halt, even as the man kept going._

_At the end of the passageway stood a long line of wraith, cutting them off from their intended goal._

"_Do what I do, and don't hesitate." The man before him suddenly charged in among the wraith, with John right behind him._

"_Where are we going?" he asked, but the man didn't seem to be able to hear him. Though that might have been because the wraith had begun to emit some type of cry that rang throughout the passageways._

_They approached another passageway and turned right, entering a room. John stopped in surprise as he realized that there was a Stargate in the hive ship. Never had he considered this possibility before, but then he had never thought to think about it._

"_Dial Atlantis," the man ordered him, and John found himself doing precisely that. The event horizon established and then John and the man stepped through._

_He was looking at the Atlantis Stargate, as he took a few steps backward from it. The man who had helped him escape emerged, having entered through backwards._

"_Thank you, John Sheppard," the man spoke, turning around to face John._

_That alone had spooked him, that this stranger knew his name, but fear and horror replaced the 'spookiness' John had felt. He knew this man. His mouth was too dry to allow him to do much more than gulp. The man was as he had originally been – unaffected in age, if not by looks._

"_Colonel Sumner?" The man had definitely changed, as his face came closer and John could distinguish the facial marks that wraith had._

"_I have only you to thank, for leading me and my hive here." The voice was wraith-like. "I could not have done it without you."_

_Crap, was John's only thought before the Atlantis Stargate activated. Double crap, he realized, as it locked from an incoming wormhole. Triple crap, he thought as he dashed up to the control room and tried to activate the shield over the Stargate._

_It wasn't working, and for some strange reason the room was empty. Without even needing to activate a radio or the city-wide PA system he knew no one was around. The city had been evacuated, he wouldn't allow himself to think that the wraith had already made it here._

"_Ah, yes, that Doctor Weir was very courageous. She died looking into my eyes."_

"_You _fed_ on her!" John practically yelled, seeing only amusement enter his former CO's eyes. He held up his hands, revealing the 'mouth' on them._

"_Her last breath was that you, Colonel Sheppard, would kill me. Unfortunately, she did not have the gift of prophecy on her side." The Sumner wraith had shifted so that he was now off to John's right, and John realized that more than two dozen wraith surrounded him._

"_Go to hell," John spoke, before all two dozen and more launched themselves at him._

John's still figure suddenly bolted upright, on the bed, his heart pounding viciously as his hands gripped the sides of the bed. He shivered for a long moment, the sweat on his arms and face chilling him as the cool air of the infirmary hit him. It wasn't enough to distract him from the nightmare, but rather kept him focused on it.

He forced himself to blink, once, twice, nothing changed. No wraith, not yet. Suddenly footsteps sounded in the hallway, and John wanted to both hide under the covers and crawl under the bed. He waited, listening as the footsteps drew closer. He might yet be spared – but alas, the footsteps were coming too unhurriedly, too full of purpose, to even give hint that they might stop and turn at any moment.

A sudden thought occurred in his sleep-deprived mind. What if everyone on Atlantis _was_ gone and only he remained? Maybe the wraith had put him in the infirmary so they could inflict more torture or pain or whatever it was they wanted to do to him. Maybe it was all psychological and he was still trapped back on the hive ship in a cocoon?

He was beyond jumpy, and he had no weapons or anything that could serve as one, short of a sheet and pillow. He was less than willing to think that a pillow would or could ward off a wraith. Damn, he could sure use MacGyver about now.

The curtain around his bed quivered and two shadows appeared on the fabric.

* * *

**A/N:** I can't help it…I thought it was so characteristic of John to say "go to hell" at the wraith – of course, he's outnumbered – it wouldn't be fair for the wraith otherwise. More should be coming in about two weeks since I'm going on vacation – though I'll be keeping this story in mind so that I can update as soon as I get back. I apologize ahead of time for the delay. But please – reviews are more than welcome! Oh and sorry for the cliffy – heh heh.

Discovery Cove, here I come!


	8. Chapter 8

Nightmares Chapter 8

John fought to make sense of the scene presented before him, as Doctor Carson and Rodney appeared. They seemed concerned, and then something would happen that would make him see that they were wraith. Was it a hologram? A poor one if the wraith were trying to copy Carson and Rodney.

"Colonel Sheppard?" John had to hand it to them – the wraith that is. They had the brogue down.

He flicked his eyes over to the scientist who stood there, worried. Again, a haze appeared that gave the scientist almost wraithlike qualities. Against his will, he snuggled up closer to the wall, where he gripped a pillow and a sheet. He doubted that the wraith would be unnerved by such things – but he hadn't seen a wraith feed through clothing. Yet.

"Colonel...it's just me. Doctor Carson." John recognized the brogue, but still, the wraith haze hung around.

"Yeah…that's exactly what you want me to think," he managed to slur out. He couldn't help it. When faced with imminent danger or death, his cynical side always came out. That and the bad nightmares created a dangerous Sheppard.

"John…" the scientist spoke up a little hesitantly, "We're here to help you. Carson says you've been having nightmares – heck, you've told me that. We just want to help you." They both approached, slowly.

"Don't…" he tried to say, but a quick flash to his left proved just how slow he was in reacting. A sharp pinch came from his arm, at the same time the doctor apologized. A moment later and the scene dissolved into darkness.

For how long he was out, only the doctor could say.

John blinked blearily, feeling for the first time, semi-awake enough to actually open his eyes. He could hear the heart monitor beeping, and knew that he was in the infirmary. He caught sight of a figure beside him, and then something tugged gently at his arm, and he succumbed to sleep once again.

Carson watched his patiently closely, making sure he gave him enough of the drug-induced sleep so that the Colonel would catch up on the missed sleep. It would be intriguing to figure out just how little sleep the Colonel had gotten the past week.

"How is he, Carson?" The doctor turned to gaze upon the worried Doctor Weir.

"I have him sleeping for the moment, but I'll be letting him wake up on his own tomorrow morning. Hopefully we can get him back on a semi-normal schedule." Carson frowned, looking at the sleeping John.

"Even after all this sleep?" inquired Elizabeth dubiously.

"Even in my med classes, we've never experimented with loss of sleep this severe. I've heard of lack of sleep promoting hallucinations – but apparently this has been going on for some time. It's a miracle his body hasn't shut down due to exhaustion." Carson composed himself, smiling encouragingly at Elizabeth. "He'll be fine, the colonel's a strong man and he'll pull through." Softly, he added, "He always does."

John awoke slowly, blinking his eyes. If he hadn't known any better, he would have said he'd been sedated. Slowly he moved his fingers, arms, and legs, checking for any signs of injury that might have landed him in the infirmary.

Footsteps approached and John pushed himself upright, feeling the tug of an IV line on his right arm.

"Good morning, Colonel Sheppard, how are you feeling?"

John took a moment to assess himself, mentally and physically.

"I feel good," he said a bit unsure. "Why am I here?"

Carson eyed him for a moment before shaking his head.

"You were a wee bit tired. You've had an eventful week."

John shook his head, not quite comprehending what Carson was talking about.

"A week has passed? Did I sleep through it all?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers.

"Actually, John, you were awake enough to react instinctively. You were hallucinating - " The sudden sharp sigh from John silenced Carson into a worried and alert doctor.

"I thought it had all been a…dream," he finished lamely. Leave it to him to screw things up. "Did I…do anything reckless?" He knew the answer before he asked the question.

"Well, you didn't hurt anyone, per se, but you did add a little more excitement to routine missions."

"Oh god…don't tell me I actually _went_ on a mission…" John buried his head into his hands, realizing how much he had possibly screwed up the mission.

"Actually, it all turned out okay, though that last day or two you were beginning to lose it. Nothing happened, John. You're better. Just make sure you get some sleep. And food."

John could feel the doctor's eyes burrowing into him, and suddenly he remembered where he was. He quickly dropped his hands and looked expectantly at Carson.

"Can I go?" Carson smiled at the colonel's sudden change in disposition. John Sheppard was back, for the moment.

"Not just yet, I insist that you eat something now." Almost immediately, a tray was set before John, loaded with a bowl of oatmeal. John had no choice but to eat, as he downed the meal. He didn't enjoy eating with an audience, but if it made the doc happy…

At last he finished, and he looked up at Carson, even as the tray was lifted away.

"Happy now?" He inquired, not able to hide the sarcasm in his tone.

"I _will_ be monitoring your sleeping habits, okay, colonel? At least for the better part of a week, however, I'm sure that'll be more comfortable in your own quarters rather than the infirmary."

John could hardly believe his ears, even as Carson withdrew the IV.

"Oh, and one last thing, I want you to see Kate."

"Sure, I'll set up an appointment with her in a day…" John trailed off as Carson seemed to be looking a bit too expectant.

"Actually, colonel, I took the liberty of already assigning you an appointment…you're to see her in five minutes." John saw the smirk on Carson's face, and couldn't blame the man. The doc was intuitive and knew him inside and out – both metaphorically and unfortunately, literally.

John walked slowly to Kate's office, wondering and dreading what they were going to speak about.

"Why John, what a surprise to see you." Kate stood upon his entering the room, and John bit back a tart response. It wasn't Kate's fault that she was the psychiatrist – not that he'd like to listen to other people's problems.

"You too, Kate," he muttered unwillingly.

"Have a seat," she offered, sitting down as he did. "I know you don't want to be here, and you probably feel like Carson went behind your back to do this, but he – we – are worried about you." John sat there like a doll, nodding mutely. He didn't have anything to say, yet, and was just waiting until Kate got to the point.

"So, I've heard you've been having nightmares…anything you'd like to share?" She got to the point already.

"No," he shook his head. Unfortunately, he recalled a fragment of a dream, lingering about.

"Sometimes when people dream, or have nightmares, it's because they refuse to let go of the past. They may think that they have accepted a situation or event, but what they don't realize is that their subconscious keeps on playing scenarios.

"Such as when someone drops a dollar bill: at the time, you might take it and keep it, thinking it's just a dollar. But maybe a day passes, or a week, and you begin to feel guilty about it. Even though it's a single dollar, your mind begins to play different versions of what might have happened. Perhaps you may have given it back – in that case would the person have given you the bill as a reward or would they have simply thanked you and continued on their way? What if they had needed the bill for something like transportation? What if they had never dropped the bill? Did the dollar signify anything significant? These are just a few of the millions of thoughts your mind begins to play.

"Even when you think you've accepted the fact that you've just 'stolen' a dollar, your subconscious slips into overdrive and before you know it, you're calling yourself a criminal."

Kate paused and watched as John seemed to be wrestling with his own demons.

"You don't know what it's like…" he muttered, almost too quiet to be heard.

"What what's like, John?" She spoke softly, afraid to interrupt him.

"To lose a comrade, to know you could have saved him, but instead to hasten his own death…" John's voice faded to a whisper and cracked.

"You mean Colonel Sumner?" Kate was a bit struck by this sudden confrontation of his demons. John jerked, then shivered.

"I…killed him." His voice was flat. His head was buried in his hands, preventing Kate from seeking out his eyes and also to hide his emotion.

"Yes, you did," Kate hated to say, but she continued. "But because you did so, you terminated his suffering at the hands of a wraith. You also took out the wraith. It was because of Colonel Sumner's death that we are successful against the wraith."

"Successful." John snorted. "What's so successful? I've killed more people than I care to admit."

"You kill because you are a warrior, John. You are in the military. You are a fighter pilot. And yes, you are in another galaxy. Anything can happen, but blaming yourself isn't going to get you past what's happened. Likewise, blaming others isn't going to cure you either. Rather, you have to find solid ground where you can stand and believe yourself." An idea occurred to Kate. "Why did you kill Colonel Marshall Sumner?"

John flinched at the name and memory, but it did the trick of getting him to raise his head and meet her eyes with a glare.

"I couldn't let the wraith feed off him. I didn't want to kill-" Kate interrupted again.

"Listen to yourself, John. You 'didn't want to kill', you did the most self-sacrificing thing in such a situation. It wasn't your fault that Sumner was caught by the wraith, or that he was fed upon – but rather your decision was to put him out of his misery. I don't know what you call it, but what I call it is humanity."

"I call it murder." John muttered softly.

"Murder is killing in cold blood. Did you hate Sumner?"

"No." The voice was firm.

"Did you respect him?"

"Yes."

"Then what you did was not murder. It was a significant event that was even more tragic by the fact that it happened when we first arrived in Atlantis. He was a casualty of war and we are at war, John. Good people die in war, and we are currently at war with the Wraith. His death sparked our desire to get out and defeat the wraith, to go approach worlds we might have left alone." Kate paused, letting the colonel soak in her words. "Will you ever forget your commanding officer?"

Suddenly John rose and squared his shoulders. He looked her firm in the eyes.

"No." And with that, the colonel left her office.

Kate smiled to herself, letting the silence settle on her like a cloak of calmness. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to find that the time had flown by. She hoped that the colonel would quit berating himself and that the nightmares would cease – but she knew that it was only up to the colonel.

"Confront your fears," Kate whispered softly, knowingly.

A/N: Okay, well I didn't mean to write so much of Kate, but apparently, my psychological side came out stronger than I had expected. I figured it might be what Kate would have said, but may have gone overboard. Did I do okay? Too much? Too little? Poor Sheppard, being forced to sit through her speech. Hopefully he'll take her words to heart…maybe. We'll see next chapter. (Oh, and I have no idea where this story is going…I'm trying to take it full circle, but this chapter took me four tries to write! Go figure, it's 11 pm.)


	9. Chapter 9

NIGHTMARES

Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was…well, be glad it's not. shoots muse

A/N: Yes, I decided to come back and finish this story. Sorry for leaving you all hanging. Especially to the certain someone who PM-ed me this week. Heh. facepalm

NIGHTMARES

Carson Beckett stared at the blood sample underneath his microscope. He swore softly in Gaelic before motioning one of the nurses over.

"Take a look at this," he said, moving over to make room for the nurse. The nurse peered into the microscope and shuddered.

"What is it?"

Carson grimaced. "It was supposed to be a blood sample."

"From whom?" The nurse peeked again at the unusual sample.

"Colonel Sheppard." Everyone in the small lab fell silent. "I think I'm going to have to get a second opinion on this one."

"Did you get another sample?" the doctor Carson returned with inquired.

Carson nodded. "Aye, this is the third sample I took from him, and it's no different from the other two." Suddenly Carson was struck with another thought. He brought up John's medical history chart—wincing as he had to flip through several pages—and followed the dates back.

"There," his finger stopped at the date where John had been injected with the retrovirus. Carson grimaced. "It's been a couple months since he's been injected with the retrovirus, but…" Carson frowned.

The other doctor thought for a moment. "You wouldn't suppose that the lack of sleep would possibly…?"

Carson started to shake his head before stopping. "I need to get another blood sample from the colonel." He tapped his radio. "Colonel Sheppard? It's Carson. I'd like to speak with you for a minute in my office." He tapped the radio off, and sighed. "Lord help us, I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."

The doctor nodded sympathetically. The retrovirus was still a sore topic for Carson.

John Sheppard froze in his tracks when Carson radioed him. Carson never did it often, and when he did, well, John's stomach tended to knot up. There was never any good news from the doctor; he took the saying: no news is good news, literally. He turned to make for the infirmary, nearly running into Ronon who had chosen that moment to find him.

"Oh, hey, Ronon," John said casually, as he started to go by.

The Satedan looked at him suspiciously. "Where're you off to?"

John shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Just to pay a visit to Carson."

The look on the Satedan's face was priceless. "But you never pay him a visit…we have to drag you there." The rest of the sentence fell on deaf ears, as John had taken the opportunity to flee. Ronon merely sighed, "I'll never understand him."

"Sure you will," Rodney appeared, hobbling around on a single crutch. He had come from one of the rooms that happened to be set aside for a lab.

Ronon looked at him dubiously. "You don't understand him either. Should you even be walking around on that leg?"

Rodney winced. "Yes, no. Don't tell Carson? Radek is about to throw everything to hell if I'm not standing over him every second—so staying in the infirmary isn't going to help anything."

From within the room came the sounds of Czech cursing. Rodney raised his hand in triumph. "If you don't mind, I have an experiment to check on."

Ronon followed him into the lab. "What are you working on?"

Radek was the one who answered, to Rodney's acute dismay. "We are trying to see what energy potential this…thing has." He motioned at the square device that Ronon recognized from their mission. Somehow, they had managed not to leave it behind.

"Ah yes, I pocketed it before I was so kindly shot by colonel hallucinations," Rodney snarked.

Ronon frowned. "What does it do?"

Rodney shrugged. "We won't know until we run our tests, which we can't do if Dr. Czech here can't get it right. Stop cursing at it, it's not like a foreign language is going to make it suddenly work."

Radek let out a few more strings of Czech curses before ceasing. "It was worth a try. Fine, fine, back to the experiment."

Ronon left the two scientists to their dealings with the strange object. He had no interest in the thing…only in getting someone to spar with him. He decided to see if Teyla was willing.

John Sheppard hesitated just outside the infirmary door. What if, once he entered, they refused to let him back out? What if they had found something seriously wrong with him? What if…? He shook his head. No more what-ifs, he told himself. Carson had said he wanted to see him in his office, so see him he would. It would only be a short visit, he promised himself.

It was a mistake, he realized it the moment he entered the room and every staff-member's eyes went to him. Feeling like a specimen under a microscope, John approached Carson's office, knocking softly on the door.

Carson spun and motioned immediately for John to enter. He did so, but not willingly. The look in Carson's eyes said that Carson had heard some news that he might not like.

"Aye, Colonel Sheppard, have a seat." He motioned at the chair just on the other side of his desk, which was cluttered with unfinished medical reports. Carson steepled his fingers and regarded John measuringly.

"What?" John asked after sufficiently waiting four seconds. He definitely did not like the look Carson was favoring him with.

Carson jerked his hand suddenly. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

John hesitated as Carson led the way out of his office, but he could not say no. After all, he was only paying a visit to Carson, his conscience goaded him. John followed as Carson led him into a different room, a lab set up with all sorts of microscopes and slides.

"Take a look at this," Carson pointed to a microscope.

"I'm not a doctor," John began to say, but Carson refused to be outdone.

"Go ahead, just look. Tell me what you see."

John was unable to refuse, so he decided a quick glance would not hurt. He only just caught a glimpse of the sample before freezing. Unable to look away, he heard himself asking, "What the hell is this?"

Carson was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, long enough to make John tear his gaze away from the sample to Carson's face. "It's a sample of your blood, colonel."

John felt the curse fly from his lips as he closed his eyes. "Dammit, I knew it was too good to be true."

Carson placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "However, I did get a second opinion, and it could be a temporary residue."

John eyed Carson warily. "Temporary residue? Of what? What the hell makes my blood look BLUE?"

Carson's voice was quiet. "The retrovirus."

A/N: Don't worry, more to come a lot sooner. I just need to type it up, now that I have a fair idea of where this is going (again). goes plot-bunny hunting


	10. Chapter 10

NIGHTMARES Chpt 10

A/N: Yup, the next chapter is up. (Explanation for 2-year hiatus at end of chapter.) Enjoy!

NIGHTMARES

"_John eyed Carson warily. "Temporary residue? Of what? What the hell makes my blood look BLUE?"_

_Carson's voice was quiet. "The retrovirus._"

John Sheppard felt his face drain of blood. The retrovirus? That should have passed through his system a few weeks after he had received the dosage. Although, now that he thought about it, Carson had not said that it would. He felt light-headed and promptly sat down in a vacant chair.

"Colonel Sheppard, I know this is a shock for you—it certainly is for me—but I need to take another sample of your blood." Carson hesitated as John's face went whiter. "Colonel Sheppard?"

He reached his hand out to get a pulse and ended up instead catching the unconscious man. "Bloody hell," he muttered, "why'd I even have him look?" He quickly called a nurse over and together they managed to get him onto one of the gurneys.

Carson quickly took a blood sample and then left John under the watchful eye of a nurse. He gave her orders to get him immediately when John awoke, before heading off in the direction of the lab to check the sample.

It was not as blue as it had been, and the blue was not very strong. It made the blood look slightly purple, instead of the oxygen-rich red color. Regardless, it still was unnatural to look at for long. Carson sighed, the retrovirus had to make a comeback at some point, but why did it choose now of all times?

John Sheppard opened his eyes to the all-too-familiar infirmary ceiling tiles. He rolled over onto his side, discovering that he could and that he was not hooked up to an IV or any other pestering equipment. He sighed as he realized what it meant: he was not staying for the night.

Suddenly he spotted Carson heading his way and John started to sit up.

"Not yet, colonel," Carson advised, "ye're still a wee bit weak from the shock. I took another blood sample from you while you were out, and it's looking more normal, but…"

"But you need me to stay here until it is," John finished for him. He felt the shudder run through him. "Why is the retrovirus picking now, of all times, to flare up?"

Carson could only shrug. "You haven't been getting much sleep in the past week so maybe that could account for it."

John started to shake his head, but stopped before the dizziness could set in. "I've been low on sleep before and it's never affected me like this. So why now?"

Carson sighed. "I'm sorry lad; I don't have anything more to tell you. I need to run some more tests."

John muttered something under his breath that Carson could not hear.

"What was that, lad?"

"I said I hope I'm not turning into another iratus bug."

When Rodney discovered that John was in the infirmary, and being kept there for observational reasons, he went ballistic.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" he ranted to a stoic Ronon.

Ronon merely regarded him quietly. "You were too busy playing with your toy."

Rodney threw up his hands in despair. "So you decided not to bother me because I have an object that's not going anywhere in the next 48 hours and clearly that's more important than my friend going into the infirmary?!"

Rodney began to crutch down the hallway, heading for the infirmary, muttering under his breath about cavemen and science and no-good-friends who didn't tell you they were going to the infirmary and possibly not coming back.

"What is Carson thinking?" Rodney growled as he finally came to the infirmary doors. He entered the room just in time to find John being hooked up to a dozen different machines. John looked up and over with a grim look.

"Hey, Rodney, you're looking good."

"Like you're not," Rodney snapped back. "Why are you back here?"

John shrugged, earning a quiet remark from one of the nurses who was inserting an IV. He flinched as she did so. "Carson decided that he'd better observe me for the night."

"Why?" Rodney started to cross his arms across his chest, but discovered that he would lose both crutches if he did so. Instead he merely got a better grip on his crutches.

John hesitated. "My, uh, blood is blue."

Rodney stared for a moment. "I'm sorry, your _what_ is blue?"

"It's true Rodney," Carson said, returning from the lab where he had been testing the sample. Rodney spun, wincing as his thigh took on more weight than he had meant. Carson gave him a severe look. "And you shouldn't be walking around so much."

Rodney waved his hand. "What's he mean by the fact that his blood is blue?"

Carson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If you wait a few minutes, the rest of the group will be here and then I can explain it once, instead of eight separate times."

Rodney fell silent, although he was clearly anxious and only took a seat when Carson threatened to book him into the infirmary if he did not. By the time John was completely hooked up on fluids and machines that would monitor everything from his heart rate to his mental activity, everyone had arrived.

Dr Weir kept glancing between John and Carson, unsure of why she had been called or why John was needed to be kept under observation. Judging by the looks on Teyla's and Rodney's faces, they weren't too thrilled about it either. John looked pained by the whole thing, and Ronon… Well, who could tell what he thought beyond the displeased expression that seemed vaguely murderous?

"Carson, did you call us in to just gawk at Colonel Sheppard, or did you have a purpose for us to come here?" Elizabeth Weir finally asked when it appeared nothing was going to happen anytime soon.

Carson briefly re-checked everything on John for the third time—despite knowing that his nurses were the best in their fields—before turning back to face the motley crew. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves; yes, even he was worried about their reactions from what he was about to tell them.

He flipped open John Sheppard's medical chart, scanned it for a moment, and then began to speak. "A couple months ago, Colonel Sheppard was injected with the retrovirus. It nearly turned him into an iratus bug,"—John shuddered at the memory—"which we were able to reverse after some time. Then, a week or so ago, he had been having trouble sleeping, which led to severe insomnia and hallucinations." Carson paused. "Since we're out here in the Pegasus Galaxy, it's no secret that the wraith are very real or very present in everyone's minds, but to hallucinate about seeing them, and going so far as to shoot in his sleep"—John flinched—"is more than just a problem."

Carson hesitated with the next thing he had to say. "I took a sample of his blood when he came in from the mission." He paused again.

John Sheppard decided to take matters into his own hands. Judging by the expressions on his friend's faces, Carson might not live long enough to explain whether or not the thing could be reversed.

"My blood was blue…with the retrovirus," John said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Everyone turned to stare at him, before turning back to Carson. "Aye, it was more purple-ish than blue, but it was clearly tainted with the retrovirus."

"Is it reversible?" Dr Weir cut in. Her voice was a bit sharp, but that could have been from worry as much as from irritability.

"Honestly? I don't know." He admitted. "The retrovirus was meant to turn wraiths human, but for the opposite to happen…. It should reverse itself temporarily in the next day or two, judging by the blood sample I took a few minutes ago."

"Why would his blood contain remnants of the retrovirus?" Teyla asked, for her benefit as well as everyone else's.

Carson sighed; what was it with the tough questions? "The only thing I could possibly relate it to is the severe lack of sleep from a week ago. The human body has a chemical balance, that once it goes haywire, it tries to recover by surging other chemicals. Generally, the body attempts this for a day or two, but for extended periods, especially when there has been little to no sleep, the chemicals get out of whack." Carson indicated John. "From what I can tell, the body tried to counter the lack of sleep with adrenalin and food. When that failed, it resorted to using whatever was left in the system: in this case, the retrovirus."

"But you said that it should have been gone from my body," John interrupted, fidgeting slightly. He hated being the center of attention, and hated it even more for making everyone concerned about him.

"Colonel, we have very little idea what we're dealing with. As far as I know, the retrovirus should be gone from your system." Carson quickly pressed on. "Also, because it is part of a virus, the body is known to produce antibodies to try and combat it and that your body ended up storing the retrovirus for future detection. When your body ran out of adrenalin and endorphins, it switched to the only other chemical left over."

"The retrovirus," John reiterated. Carson nodded.

"Aye. However, your system is returning to normal, so I think if we watch you just for tonight, you should be good to go tomorrow."

"Will this be a problem in the future?" Elizabeth inquired. "If he doesn't get enough sleep and the retrovirus keeps kicking up, then won't it only be staving off the inevitable?"

Carson shook his head. "As long as he doesn't push himself too hard, he shouldn't be invoking the retrovirus. As it is, the hallucinations were more likely caused by the lack of sleep, than the retrovirus."

"But he still shot me," came Rodney's accusing voice.

"I'm sorry, Rodney," John said, flinching at the hazy memory.

Elizabeth looked around. "So you're just going to monitor him for tonight, and then send him on his way tomorrow?"

Carson nodded. "Aye, that's the plan. Any more questions?"

Rodney raised his hand. "Yeah, hey Sheppard? Can I have your poster for compensation?"

John glared at Rodney. "I thought you had better things to do with your time."

"Oh right…my new toy." Rodney glanced at Ronon, who was ignoring him. Instead, Ronon's eyes were fixed on the equipment beeping quietly.

"What new toy?" John asked, momentarily distracted.

Rodney grinned. "I managed to bring back that device thingy we found on the planet."

"Do you know what it does?"

The grin vanished. "No. Radek and I are working on it."

"Oh." John lay back against the pillows and sighed. "I guess I'll see you more tomorrow then. Holler if you need me."

Rodney nodded. "Get some rest."

"You too," John called after Rodney's retreating crutching form. John sighed, Rodney could be just as bad as he could about not getting enough sleep—but somehow the physicist never ended up awakening dormant abilities or retroviruses.

A/N: So how about that medical terminology? facepalm I blame my zoology lab for making me think of such things…and the fact I'm writing this straight after lab isn't helping matters. I did, however, get another brilliant idea for a story—set further in Season 3 or 4, but I should finish this before starting that one.

Oh, and for those of you curious why it has been so long since I've updated: I tried to put fanfiction behind me. I've fallen in love with creating my own characters, since attempting NaNoWriMo—and being successful twice—and fanfiction just doesn't feel the same. Anyway, it looks like I've been dragged back to finish the story. (Check out the website www (dot) nanowrimo (dot) org, although it's down for the time being.)


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